


is this what they call paradise?

by driedupwishes



Category: Free!
Genre: Fluff, M/M, POV Second Person, Post-Olympics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 02:29:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2371100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/driedupwishes/pseuds/driedupwishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You spend the day afterward in bed. It’s not a conscious decision or a plan you made before hand, but when you wake you are in his arms, warm and comfortable, and it does not occur to you to rush. You hang in the place where sleep sits heavily on your eyes even though your eyes are slitted open against the sunlight. His arm is around your waist, his other tucked under your head in lieu of a pillow, and you drift for a while, slipping in and out of consciousness.</p>
<p>You’ve forgotten the previous day. You’ve forgotten everything that does not exist outside of his arms, outside of the bed where you lay, closer to the windows than it is to the door. His heart beats against your back in time with your own and the sunlight creeps across the ground and the next time you are pulled to consciousness he is pressing kisses to your shoulders, his fingers digging into your hips, and he’s humming excited words against the back of your throat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	is this what they call paradise?

You spend the day afterward in bed. It’s not a conscious decision or a plan you made before hand, but when you wake you are in his arms, warm and comfortable, and it does not occur to you to rush. You hang in the place where sleep sits heavily on your eyes even though your eyes are slitted open against the sunlight. His arm is around your waist, his other tucked under your head in lieu of a pillow, and you drift for a while, slipping in and out of consciousness.

You’ve forgotten the previous day. You’ve forgotten everything that does not exist outside of his arms, outside of the bed where you lay, closer to the windows than it is to the door. His heart beats against your back in time with your own and the sunlight creeps across the ground and the next time you are pulled to consciousness he is pressing kisses to your shoulders, his fingers digging into your hips, and he’s humming excited words against the back of your throat.

“We did it,” he whispers. You think he hasn’t sounded so small and childlike since before he left the first time and it makes your stomach clench. But you’re confused; you can’t remember what he’s so excited about until the memory returns in a rush, like you’ve dived into the pool, water against your skin, and suddenly your heart is racing and you’re breathing in ragged little gasps, because you remember the day before all at once.

You wiggle around in his grip, pushing and shoving, until you’re facing him. He’s glowing, his eyes wide and the sunlight reflecting in his hair and you love him. You’ve loved him for a long time, but it hits you, harder than you thought it would, that you love him so much it makes your chest feel like you’ve been underwater for too long, like you’re crushed inside with the lack oxygen.

“Yeah,” you croak, because you just woke up and your voice is scratchy and it makes the corner of his eyes crinkle as he laughs, bright and happy. Your voice always does that when you first wake up, but his eyes always crinkle when you croak and you can’t find it within yourself to feel embarrassed about such a thing.

“We did it,” you say and it’s a current underwater, excitement tangling you up and tugging you along, your heart racing harder and harder against his. And then he laughs and laughs, pressing forward to knock his forehead into yours and you watch with hooded eyes as he begins to tear up, his breath hitching, chest convulsing where it is pressed against your own. It’s one of the more exasperating and strangely endearing things he does, always with the tears, and with a little smile you cup the side of his jaw and press a soft kiss into the crest of his cheek.

“Congratulations,” you whisper, chest hitching as your voice tries to break, for reasons other than the heavy weight of sleep that still lingers. “You got your dream, Rin.”

“Our dream,” he says immediately and your chest is so tight, your heart beating so fast, because it was. He had always dreamed of winning in the Olympics, of the flashing cameras and record breaking finishing times, and somewhere along the way, in between training and grumbling about training, little video chats and messages sent across the sea, his dream had become your dream too.

You smile so wide your face hurts and there are tears springing in your eyes too and the thought occurs to you, that you’ve spent too much time with this cry baby and he’s rubbing off on you with his bad habits. But on the tail of that thought, bubbling up inside him like a hot springs, is that you want to spend the rest of your life collecting bad habits from him. That thought is a rush, hot in the pit of your stomach, and you stoke down his jaw and slip your hand around the back of his neck, pulling him forward, kissing him solid and just shy of utterly desperate. He responds eagerly, but he’s still laughing, still smiling and crying, the small noises he makes pulling open his mouth until the kiss is less of a kiss and more of a sharing of breath, his nose against your cheek, his eyelashes tickling the tops of your cheekbones. But you don’t mind.

“Our dream,” you repeat against his lips and he ducks his head, presses his face against your shoulder because he’s overwhelmed, and you love him so much. You love him more than you’ve ever loved anything before, which should scare you, would have scared you a decade before, when you were convinced everything you loved would one day slip from your grip, but it doesn’t. You pull him atop you, rolling onto your back and letting him burrow against your chest as he clutches you and the heavy tug of contentment pulls you back toward sleep, warm and content and exhausted with how much you feel. Something glints out of the corner of your eye and when you crane you neck you spot them, your medals entwined on the bedside table, catching the sunlight. Another rush of feeling hits you, one you’re too overwhelmed to sort through and name, so you clutch his shoulders, your hands pressed against his bare skin, and you press kisses onto the top of his head. You pray that if this is a dream, it is one that you will never have to wake up from.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a long dozy day of napping on the couch under like three blankets while listening to Markiplier's charity stream and from some reason this idea hit me. I wasn't too sure on posting it, but I like it and I've been encouraged to by my babes, so I am???
> 
> IDK, I hope you enjoyed it :)


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